Raising the Stakes
by Kyusil
Summary: "This isn't a real battle, of course." Novelization, such as it is, of the FE6 tutorial segment.
1. Funds

"This isn't a real battle, of course. There's no need to be nervous."

On reflection, Cecilia spoke more to herself than to her students. Lilina looked energized, stiff-spined new anima tomes in hand, and Roy was still groggy, even an hour before noon, but neither appeared anxious about the exam. Casting away the question of whether or not this was actually a good sign, Cecilia continued:

"The castle guards are playing your enemies, but they have orders to assist you if you happen to run into real trouble—w-which isn't likely, but all the same… did you have a question, Lilina?"

"I was wondering how we're going to be marked," said Lilina, tapping her heel against the stone step behind her. They stood at the rear entrance to the castle, a rather nondescript doorway about a tenth of the size of the grand drawbridge in front. It was still swarming with guards, but beyond the walled terraces there were settlements and wilderness… more scenic, Cecilia thought, and better suited for a battle. _No, no, not a battle. An exam._

"The guards will assess your performance," she replied. Lilina gave a resolute nod, her lips pursed, and Cecilia privately hoped her opponents wouldn't get hurt. "And I will take time into account. You must return before sunset. Any other questions?" They shook their heads tentatively, Roy yawning into his fist. Then as Cecilia was about to send them off, he spoke up.

"Are there meals for us?"

"Meals?" Cecilia repeated, frantically trying to remember if she'd gone over rationing with them. It must have been earlier in the year; after the harvest, perhaps. Unless it was _so_ basic that she'd forgotten to review it entirely, well-fed as they all were on thick Ostian stews and dark bread. She recovered: "You won't have time for meals. We'll be finished before supper."

"I packed some extra food anyway," Lilina said, turning to Roy, but the note of pride in her voice was meant for Cecilia alone. "There's enough to share if you get hungry later."

"Ah," Cecilia began, smiling ruefully as both their faces fell at the one syllable. "I'm sorry, I must have forgotten to tell you… you'll be performing separately."

Lilina gaped at her for a moment, and then stammered into a response: "B-but, Lady Cecilia… y-you never said we weren't going to be working together for the exam—"

"Have I been teaching you together?"

"N-no, but—" She shot a pained glance at Roy, who was finally beginning to look more nervous than tired. "But all of our plans… I—we just thought…"

"Lilina, if I wasn't sure that both of you could handle this, I would have held your exam in the courtyard." This wasn't entirely true: Cecilia had planned this day for months in advance. Since the fall of Sacae. It was going to happen regardless of whether the young nobles were prepared for it or not. And right then, in all honesty, they were closer to _not._ Lilina had a wonderful raw talent for anima magic, but she could hardly control it; thankfully, Castle Ostia's courtyards were more stone than green, or she would have set fire to the place in a heartbeat. And Roy… he _tried,_ bless him, but his skill with a sword was still only rudimentary. Sometimes Cecilia wondered if he wouldn't have been better off learning magic after all, until she remembered that he really _did _set fire to the courtyard.

But she couldn't look doubtful in front of them if they were to learn from this; smiling, she added, "Both of you are going to do splendidly, I'm sure of it. Just remember everything we've practiced." She nodded at the pair of guards who would escort them to their starting positions. Roy wished Lilina good luck; she answered him with a barrage:

"You have to remember what we went over. Don't spend too much time on one enemy, you'll get worn out before you're even halfway back here. They usually don't have much armor around their backs or thighs, so try and hit them there. If you get lost, the nearest mountain is east, a-and—" She caught the desperation in her voice a moment too late and blushed feverishly as Roy raised his eyebrows.

"Why are _you_ nervous? You said last night this would be easy."

"I'm _not_ nervous," Lilina replied, her voice low and defensive. "I thought—_you're_ the one who's always late to your lessons, I just don't want you to get lost out here."

"After all that studying?" Roy groaned softly. "I told you, I'll be fine—"

"That's enough," said Cecilia. "Listen, both of you. You're taking this much too seriously. I'm not looking for either of you to go through this without any mistakes. Just do your best and you won't have anything to worry about, all right?" The two students mumbled in embarrassed agreement, avoiding Cecilia's eyes as well as each other's. Still, they seemed to be in better spirits as they set off between their escorts—at least, they weren't sniping at each other— and they would probably remain that way as long as they shared the road. After that… well, it wasn't as though Cecilia would be able to _see_ them panic. But perhaps they would surprise her—really give her a reason to mark them highly, other than charity or an apology for putting them through such a mess. But even if today was a failure on all accounts, they could all take comfort in the fact that it was just a test.

As Cecilia watched her pupils grow smaller in the distance, she became aware that there was someone standing behind her. Wolt jumped as soon as she turned around, wasting no time at all falling into a polite bow.

"Oh, Wolt! You weren't waiting there the whole time, were you?" She had seen the page at Roy's side before the lesson began, but he must have stayed behind with the castle guards in the meantime. Wolt snapped back upright but still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I didn't want to bother you, Lady Cecilia. Er… u-unless I am now?"

"Of course not. Did you need anything?"

Clearly he did, and he had not expected her to get to the heart of the matter so soon. He opened his mouth a few times, teetering on the edge of speech. Right as Cecilia was about to reassure him that he wasn't, in fact, being impudent, he finally spoke up.

"Can you test me too?" Cecilia blinked. It wasn't what she expected, but she knew the boy would back down if she was anything less than encouraging. Sure enough, he'd already adopted a guilty expression, twisting his bow in his white-knuckled hands, when she attempted an answer.

"Oh… well, I wouldn't claim to know very much about archery, but perhaps we can set up some targets out here?" Something like indignation shone briefly in Wolt's averted eyes, and Cecilia realized at once how condescending this was. He was a seasoned hunter by now, and she knew from Roy that he roamed the neighboring woods whenever he was free from his attendant duties. Testing him with stationary targets would be like testing Lilina with the alphabet. "No, of course not. I should have known… but maybe we could…"

"I'd… if it's not too much, Lady Cecilia, I'd like to help R—er, Master Roy," he said timidly, but his voice was firm.

"Mm." She thought for a moment about the most delicate way to refuse his request. "That's very, ah… noble of you to suggest, Wolt—" She had to work more quickly, he was already balking, "—but Roy's never had the chance to try something like this for himself. I think it's important that he learns from it." Wolt nodded, looking crestfallen. Cecilia looked at him seriously. It couldn't hurt to tell a servant boy the truth, could it? "Wolt, do you know about the war in Ilia?"

"Ah… with Bern, right?"

"That's right. I can only hope this isn't true, but I don't think Bern will stop its conquest there." She paused, forcing herself to focus on the words and not the reality. "Roy will need you at his side then." Wolt raised his eyes to meet hers for the first time, though his expression was vague; he looked more confused than anything. Still, she pressed onward, struck by a sudden idea and the necessity for a distraction: "I know what I'll have you do. Now, there's a little village just south of here—" she reached into the bag at her hip, pulled out a pocket-sized map, and handed it to him, "—and as far as I've been told, they're not aware that we're doing this, ah… simulation. You have to warn civilians in the event of a real battle, of course… and they could always do with some practice themselves."

"…S-so you want me to go tell them that there's a battle going on?" Wolt said eagerly. Before Cecilia could even nod, he gave a short, brisk bow and rose up again, saying, "I won't disappoint you, Lady Cecilia!" And he set off, bow in hand, leaving her wondering how he could manage to disappoint her in such a simple errand.

The exam was set to be an all-day affair, but Cecilia couldn't afford to leave, just in case something went wrong and one of her students—or Wolt—was hurt. It was a greater possibility than she would've liked to admit, so she'd packed not only long distance staves, but a few books and sheaves of stationery to pass the time. But just as soon as she'd sunk onto one of the stone benches and pulled out one of the more pithy, enjoyable treatises on anima theory she'd yet found, she heard heavy footsteps approaching and an unmistakable booming laugh.

"—but when am I ever in the throne room?" Cecilia turned to see Marquess Ostia himself step outside through the rear door, accompanied by Sir Bors, the rotund, curly-haired knight who escorted Lilina to her lessons. Cecilia had asked him to serve as a sparring partner for the students at the end of the test, since she couldn't take notes on performance with a sword in hand, but she wouldn't be surprised if Hector managed to pull him away for something the one time she needed the help.

"With all due respect, milord, the conference is in a few weeks and the representatives from Tuscana are set to arrive anytime—" Lord Hector waved a hand and Bors' mouth snapped shut.

"Leygance can deal with 'em if it comes to that." He spotted Cecilia, who rose to greet him, pulling a smile onto her face even though she had no desire to deal with one of his inquiries. He'd stop by during their normal lessons to make sure she wasn't endangering his daughter, so she fully expected him to keep on her about a full practical exam with real (albeit blunted) weapons involved. "Cecilia." He inclined his head, his voice suddenly more delicate. "Beautiful morning, isn't it? You look just as well."

"I'd say the same for you, Lord Hector," she replied. "You're not at all worried about the League conferences, are you?"

"Not in the least. Things ought to go smoothly, as far as I'm concerned. And if not, Eliwood can cover for me. He's a natural with these sort of things." Cecilia frowned. When she accepted the offer to teach in Ostia, she expected to be treated with caution at best and suspicion at worst. This was the city-state boasting ironclad defense and a famed spy network—surely an Etruscan ambassador would be less than welcome. But as it was, the marquess laughed and bandied about national secrets and boasted of his own leniency like he and Cecilia were good friends. Any information she'd gathered was out of curiosity rather than necessity—Etruria's court mages went abroad to teach out of tradition—but she was a little disconcerted about how _little_ Hector seemed to actually do. She presumed that Ostia's defenses must have been all she'd heard, or else Hector would have been assassinated a long time ago. He smiled jauntily and continued, "Nothing you need to concern yourself over, anyway—after all, Lycia's loss is your gain, isn't it?"

"If that were true, I should have been teaching Lilina how to bake instead of how to fight," she said archly. Hector's eyes brightened at the mention of his daughter.

"Thought I'd come down here for her exam," he said in the guise of a gruff voice. "She wasn't too nervous this morning, was she? Poor girl was nearly in hysterics last night over it."

"Really? She seems perfectly confident in her lessons." _No doubt because all she's hearing at home is that she's a prodigy._

"Oh, not about herself—about Roy." Hector's face sharpened into a stern, almost calculating expression. Cecilia hesitated; she wasn't quite sure what was on his mind. Certainly, he hadn't wasted any time expressing his disapproval when he learned that his daughter was to be sent out of his sight with a boy her age. But at the same time, he seemed to have shouldered a certain amount of responsibility for Roy, if not genuine concern. He spoke fondly of how the boy took after his father, watched his lessons sometimes and gave him tips, and invited him to meals. Cecilia thought it prudent to give him the benefit of the doubt, in any case, and answered accordingly.

"…He'll be fine. There are guards stationed a mile out, they'll be sure to look after him."

"Go soft on him, you mean," Hector replied, crossing his bare forearms over his chest. "That boy's been coddled for too long. He's got no idea how to really fight, at least not with a proper weapon."

"What would you suggest I do?" Cecilia said, her voice somewhat sharper than it should have been; she thought it awfully brazen of him to accuse anyone of coddling when _she'd_ been the one to teach Lilina the first thing about Lycian government. "Beat him until he manages to defend himself?"

"That's exactly what you should do! A real enemy's not going to wait his turn. No offense meant, Cecilia, but you don't learn that from a tutor. They'll teach fancy maneuvers and etiquette and other rubbish that's got no place on the battlefield. No, I'd say the arena was my best teacher." His beard twitched with a slight smile, reminiscence glistening in his eyes. What kind of man remembered the coarsest sort of bloodshed so fondly, Cecilia didn't care to know.

"I'm not throwing Roy into the arena," she said flatly.

"Oh, it's not that bad. Nothing like yours, no lions or anything. Just men fighting for their pay."

"Their _wagers_, you mean. That is, if he doesn't get ripped apart, he'll turn into a gambler."

"Nothing wrong with a little bet every now and then," Hector said, his voice purposefully light. Cecilia looked onward, her lips pressed together. "Come on. You're saying you've _never_ gambled?"

"I'd like to retain some semblance of class," she responded.

"Well, nothing lasts forever, does it? Here." Before Cecilia could object, Hector unhooked the money purse from his belt and scooped out a handful of coins. "One hundred gold on Lilina to finish the test first."

"Lord Hector!" Cecilia exclaimed, stepping back. "That— you can't think of betting on your daughter's exam!"

"No, you're right," said the marquess, running a hand through his beard. "There's no competition. Wouldn't be any fun gambling on a sure bet."

"Wait… what's that supposed to mean?" Cecilia said slowly. Hector flashed a grin, and she knew she was being goaded, but she kept on. "If you're saying Roy has no chance at making it back first…."

"Well, I don't know if I'd say _no_ chance… but odds like his, you'd stand to gain a fortune."

"I think you're underestimating him, sir!" Cecilia said, her voiced raised beyond propriety, but acting like a proper Etruscan lady seemed less and less important as their conversation continued. "He's worked so hard this year, and after all that, to act as if he's completely incapable is—" _Insulting._ Lilina could get by on talent alone, but Roy worked for every bit of his skill, and it took Cecilia just as much time and patience to guide him in it. He was doubtlessly second-best, but it would be unjust to let all that effort go unrepresented—not to mention Cecilia's own effort in the matter. Still, it would sound like an accusation, put that way. So she spoke carefully: "He may yet surprise you, Lord Hector."

"Ah, well, that's easy to say when you're not paying for it." Cecilia glared at him for a moment, unable to argue.

"…Very well." She dug the necessary handful of coins out of her own purse and pushed them into Hector's hand. "You're on. My gold on Roy to finish first."

"That settles it, then!" Hector looked as if he'd already won the bet; chuckling, he counted the coins and handed them back to Cecilia. "I can't stay here all day, but I didn't want you to think I'd run off with your hard-earned gold." The knight, at his lord's side through the whole conversation, caught her eye and adopted an apologetic expression—which didn't go unnoticed by Hector. "Bors! Almost forgot you were here. Care to throw in a wager?"

"Ah—th-thank you, Lord Hector, but I'm not sure it's appropriate for me to—"

"I'll put one in for you, then." Bors shifted in discomfort but didn't looked interested in arguing further with Hector.

"It's a conflict of interests, sir," Cecilia offered, nodding at Bors, who looked expressly relieved. "They'll have to get past him for the test. It wouldn't do to have him favoring one of them while they're fighting him."

"Just as well," Hector said. "We'll need a fair witness in case I get caught up in some diplomacy trap up in the castle." He grimaced, looking rather like a schoolboy assigned extra reading, but ambled over to the back door. "Keep your eyes open, Bors. I don't want there to be any mistakes about our bet!" With a short wave, he entered the doorway and slammed it shut behind him. Bors let out a long breath, his straight, knightly posture slipping a little.

"Lady Cecilia, I apologize. My liege can be, ah… difficult, but I assure you, he means well."

"Oh, of course. Any chance he can get to show off his daughter's talent… and who would blame him?" Cecilia reclaimed her seat and gestured for Bors to do the same. He sank heavily onto the bench next to her. "I'm not offended, Sir Bors. I know things are different here than they are in Etruria."

"He might've been a touch more tactful about it," Bors muttered, his ears growing pink.

"That's Lord Hector's way," Cecilia said with a wry smile. "Hardly anything to do but go along with it." And if proving to Hector her worth as a tutor meant sacrificing a bit of gold and a little more pride, then so be it.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: This is a story- rather, a chapter of a story- that was definitely too long in the making for the silly little piece that it's going to be. This is basically a retelling of the FE6 tutorial as it might have actually happened, without references to the R Button and such.<p>

ETA: Ah, almost forgot! My biggest thanks to Raphiael, who beta-read and helped refine this. Her attention and skill were invaluable, so major props!

I hope you've enjoyed it so far, and as always, reviews of any sort are endlessly appreciated. :)


	2. Survival

Finally, once he and Lilina had parted and his guard had left him at the starting position— an intersection of three roads at the foot of a towering spruce—Roy sighed in relief at his opportunity to worry freely. He'd counted the guards on the way over, his stomach twisting as the number rose to up fifteen, all with armor over their backs and thighs. He only half-listened as Lilina grasped at bits of advice to give him, her tone becoming feebler and less confident as they approached their crossroads. After she'd left, Roy thought he'd piece together a plan of attack based on whatever slivers of information he could remember from months of study in tactics. Nothing came to mind. Nothing on terrain or weapons or even what the map he and Lilina pored over last night had looked like. All he could think of clearly were very distinct figures on blood loss and pressure points, at which he could only close his eyes briefly and remind himself that they were all using practice weapons. Falling to something bloodless and mundane would be much more likely, after all. He figured he could work through three of the guards— maybe four, if they were as bored and exasperated as his escort—before getting worn out. He hated to admit it, but Lilina was probably right on that account: it was inevitable. And despite Cecilia's reassurances, he doubted that the guards would just let him wander back unaccosted, even reduced to the point of collapse.

_Come on, you're not _that_ bad off, _he tried to convince himself. As Cecilia had consistently told him, he'd come a long way since his arrival in Ostia two years ago, when, to his continued embarrassment, he couldn't make it up the castle's main staircase without stopping to rest halfway. But then, as _Hector _had consistently told him, he still had a long way to go. However long he practiced, as many notches as he'd made with his practice sword in the trunks of the evergreens flanking the castle, Roy was still scrawny, uncoordinated, and weak. A boy on the threshold of a man's role. If it were only a matter of laws and domain tours, that would be one thing, but his father and Hector were _warriors_. How could the people of Pherae trust a leader who couldn't protect them, couldn't even fight? But there was no shying from it: he would take up that mantle someday, and—he thought inevitably of Prince Mildain's untimely death the month before—it was best to be prepared. And if he took himself seriously, it surely wouldn't be long before everyone else did.

But until that time came, Roy knew he had his limits. He couldn't just plow through the forests and fields up to the castle, even if he wanted to. Hitching up his belt, he climbed to the top of a nearby knoll to get a good look at his surroundings and formulate a plan. There was the castle in the distance, wide and robust; the main road he'd walked along with Lilina, weaving in and out of trees and bluffs; and surely dozens of alternate paths in between. He wouldn't have to encounter a single guard if he was cautious enough. The safest way would be through the woods— ample opportunity to hear a metal-clad guard's footsteps approaching, while Roy's own slight frame could easily slip between the trees without notice. He wondered if there was any chance he'd run into Lilina during the test, but dully reminded himself that she'd be progressing much faster, not to mention the woods were dangerous for anyone using fire magic. _Maybe Wolt'll be out hunting_, he thought, walking more quietly now that the undergrowth was thick with fallen leaves.

The company would've done something to assuage his unease, but Roy had to admit to himself that there was something exhilarating about being out in the wilderness alone. He'd been just outside the castle with Wolt, but never farther. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh, rich smell of pine. Hector had told him that Ostia's mountain air would be good for him, but he hadn't noticed much of a difference until then. That, and the way the sunlight filtered through the branches, leaving patches of warmth and shade below, and the fact that there was no sign of another person anywhere nearby… _this might not be so hard, _he thought, the mounting sense of independence finally beginning to eclipse his fear.

Roy walked on, stopping less and less frequently to listen for crunching twigs or rustling bushes as he grew accustomed to the solitude. The more trees he passed, the more certain he was that the guards couldn't have been happy about being forced into a training exercise so far beneath their renowned skills. It was altogether unlikely that they'd be interested in sparring on equal footing with a young, inexperienced lordling, even if it was an excuse to stretch their muscles a bit—not when they had an arena just on the other side of the castle, with real warriors and real wages.

Through the foliage ahead, Roy could see a wider trail, worn through to the dusty ground. He stopped, suddenly all too aware that his soft step had lapsed into an audible trudge. If he was going to run into any of the guards, it would be on one of these paths. Then again, walking along anything resembling a road would get him to the castle more quickly than sidling between the trees. It was a risk he was sure Cecilia had worked into the exam on purpose, and he couldn't help but admire her thoughtful planning despite the fact that it might leave him with some nasty bruises. Her directions sprang to his mind—_the guards will assess your performance, and I will take time into account._ He imagined sneaking back to the castle unscathed after Lilina had fought her way through half a dozen guards, and arched his back in discomfort at the thought. He may have been weak, but he wasn't about to be a coward.

Placing a hand on the pommel of his sword, he drew in a breath and half-stepped, half-leaped into the road, his teeth grit in anticipation of guards descending on him at any second. But the trail was empty on either side of him. Roy straightened up, frowning slightly; as much as he wanted to be prudent and avoid enemies—_enemies? They're _our_ sentries!—_the thrill of exploration was beginning to wear off. He'd spent so much time imagining the guards to be lazy and disinterested that he found himself almost wishing for a fight with one of them. It couldn't be much longer, though; Roy drew his sword and swung it around a few times, feeling a little more confident with a weapon in hand. But when he turned a corner, he saw something that made his heart jump into his throat.

There was a body in the middle of the road.

Without another thought, Roy darted back into the forest and behind the thickest tree trunk he could find, his heart pounding like a blacksmith's hammer. There was no mistaking it even at a fleeting glance: the pale figure lying prone on the ground, the debris strewn around it, dark red seeping while Roy had only ever seen it trickle at most. His stomach dropped even further as it dawned on him that the corpse wasn't just dead—it was _murdered._ He thought briefly of calling out for help, but what if the killer heard him? Before he could make a decision, however, he heard a sleepy drawl coming from the trail.

"Come on out, lad… I'm'n no fit state t'hurt you." It took Roy a second to connect the bored-sounding voice with the body he'd sworn was completely lifeless. But it was only a brief look, after all, and there was something pained and pitiable about the man's voice that seemed to rule out the possibility that the killer—or whatever he was—was luring him out there. Cautiously, Roy peered out around the trunk, wishing fervently and not for the first time that his hair was a more subdued shade. On second glance, the man was indeed stirring. His hair was awash in blood, but it wasn't as much as Roy had thought he'd seen. There were shafts of wood scattered on the ground: as Roy approached the wounded man, he realized they were the remains of a cart.

"Wh-what happened?" he stammered, tripping slightly on one of the dismembered wheels. To his astonishment, the man gave a lopsided, wincing grin, blood showing from between his teeth.

"Whole world's out today, innit? You come here from th'castle?" Roy hesitated before responding, but there was no reason to be suspicious of a man whose face and neck were drenched in blood—at least, assuming it was his.

"I'm staying at the castle, yeah," he answered. "Do… do you need some help, sir?"

The man in the road assumed an affected tone through his slur: "Oh, not 't all, your lordship. You'd best be off t'your duties up at the castle, I'll not keep you." Scowling, Roy ripped open his satchel and dug out the cloth, bandages, and vulnerary that Lilina had insisted on packing for him that morning. He crouched down, mind scrambling to remember how to treat a wound. _That_ lesson had been a practical one: a nick in the blade of Cecilia's trainer snagged along the underside of his forearm during a bout one day, and rather than healing the cut with magic, she used the opportunity to teach Lilina, who'd been watching from the edge of the courtyard fountain, about "common" healing. He wasn't scared—there was hardly a danger of blood loss if it had all rushed to his face, after all—but between biting his tongue to keep from wincing and determinedly avoiding their eyes, all that now-vital information was lost on him. _But it's all common sense, isn't it? I can figure it out._ And looking more closely at the wound, deep and shining with blood, he _had_ to figure it out.

"Listen, could—could you sit up?" said Roy in a weak attempt at authority. The wounded man stared at him skeptically, though it was hard to tell with his brow twisted in pain; after a second, however, he gave a shaky shrug and dragged himself upright. Roy poured a bit of his canteen water into the cloth, his hands unsteady with the effort of holding onto all the other supplies, and pressed it against the cut on the main's hairline. It didn't do much to stem the bleeding, but it held it off until Roy could smear some of the pungent herbal paste over the wound and clumsily wrap the bandages around his head. "There. D-does it feel any better?"

"Oh, loads better," replied the man in that mocking tone, not budging an inch from where he sat. They spent a moment in silence as Roy fumbled with the cork of the vulnerary bottle, wondering if he'd done much help at all. "Not meaning to intrude on your healing, there, but were you gonna help me up?"

"What?" The man nodded at his right leg, which appeared swollen below the knee, the pant leg brushed with blood and the boot rim unusually tight.

"The bastard took a club to my shin," he growled. "Guess he got scared after we grappled for a bit and decided to play dirty."

"So… you were robbed."

"_Yes, _ I was robbed! D'you need me to pull out my pockets to be sure?" Roy shook his head. "Then help me up!" He dropped the bottle back into his satchel, tossed the rag into the ruins of the cart, and ducked under the man's outstretched arm. With a fortifying breath, he lifted, legs trembling under the dead weight. The man wasn't particularly tall, and his stature was far from the burly, solid one favored in Ostian men, but knowing that didn't make the job easy. Both of them staggered upon standing straight, and when the man's grip on Roy's shoulder didn't slacken, Roy gave up hope entirely of being able to keep his breath steady. It didn't go unnoticed. "You all right there, lad?" the man said, the edge to his voice dulled considerably.

"Yeah, I've got you," Roy grunted. "Where—?" The man pointed in the direction Roy had come from: a dull blow to his careful plans for a timely return to the castle. Resigned to his decision, he started back on the trail.

"It's by the lake, only 'nother mile out." _Only another mile? _Roy's knees nearly buckled again at the thought. "Sure you can make it? Arms like yours, you'd be hard-pressed t'lift an oar. Not that I'm much better," he sighed. "Live off fish bones your whole life and you start lookin' like one yourself."

"Guess that explains it," Roy muttered. "I'm the—I'm from Pherae," he added, though he wasn't sure if that would mean anything to an Ostian commoner. "Right on the ocean, you know, so we eat a lot of seafood."

"Aah, thought I heard an accent in you. Pherae's over eastward, right? I'm just glad y'don't ship over the same kinda fish, 'r else we'd be rivals for gold." He let out a loud, raspy laugh that made Roy start and nearly lose his hold on the man's arm. Dauntless, he continued. "Name's Logden, if I didn't mention it. I sell my catch in the village market—well, used to, I s'ppose. No tellin' what I'll do with my leg torn up like this."

"Can't you find a healer?"

Logden barked out another hoarse laugh. "Found you, didn't I?"

"Ah—" Roy shook his head ardently. He'd have to somehow manage the mile-long trek to get Logden home, but he wasn't going to set a broken leg. "I'm not—I just gave you a vulnerary, that's all."

"Hey, it's more'n the church would've done. Times like these, you'd be lucky to get willow bark, 'less you're on the way out." They fell silent for a few minutes, Roy's mind racing for a way out of tending to Logden once they arrived at the lake. He was sure the fisherman had never seen the castle up close, so he could say the gates all closed precisely at sundown and he'd get stuck outside if he didn't hurry. _Cecilia won't leave me out here, but he doesn't know…._

"Hang on!" Roy stopped before a leftward turn in the road, struck with a sudden idea. "You can come up to the castle with me. My teacher's got all kinds of staves, she'd know what to do with your leg." He was sure Cecilia would understand given the circumstances—_and besides, rescuing civilians has to count for something, right?_ He glanced over at Logden, whose face had gone even paler; for the first time, his expression truly matched the scale of his injuries.

"I wouldn't go to the castle for help if ev'ry bone in my body was broken," he said, forcing another step on his own accord and dragging Roy along with him.

"Whoa! W-wait—" Roy stumbled to right himself, his heavy boots plodding along the path. "Why not? You don't have to worry about— ah, propriety, o-or anything like that. Lord Hector barely acts like a nobleman himself!"

"I'll say. Marquess' job is to keep track of his territory, innit? We're in sight of the castle and there's still looters roamin' about—nev'rmind the fact that nobody's got two gold pieces t'rub together— so what the hell's he doing up there while trueborn Ostians like me are gettin' robbed on these roads?"

"But… I don't understand why you wouldn't ask for help up there."

"I've seen how this goes, lad. You let the castle folks help you out, and they'll want compensation. Soon's I can walk on two feet again, they'll thrust a spear into my hands and tell me to repay 'em in service."

"I don't think you're in any danger of that," Roy said, but with little conviction. It had dawned on him, close as he was to Hector in status and proximity, that he was clueless with respect to the marquess as such. Logden spoke fearfully, in wild possibilities, but Roy couldn't think of anything to prove him wrong. He saw new guards every month—they had to come from somewhere, and none of them seemed to enjoy their job. But it didn't change the situation; Roy was still fixed to set the man's leg if he didn't think quickly. Cautiously, he offered, "If it'll change your mind, my teacher's not Ostian. She's visiting from Etruria."

"Heh. No better," Logden grunted. "The marquess'll take my labor, but Etruscans insist on gold. "

"Just how many people do you run into in that village, anyway?" Roy said, growing defensive. "You can't know for sure what she'll do, you've never met her! Why not just trust me on this—"

Logden broke him off: "Spend another thirty years here on the ground and then try tellin' me who to trust." His voice seemed ragged, heavy with experience; Roy couldn't bring himself to answer to it. He couldn't afford to worry over the leg now— getting to the lake was the more pressing issue. They fell into a tense silence, limping along the trail as it became narrow and as moss and weeds crept back into it. Roy could feel blood seeping into his sleeve, warm compared to the sweat he'd built up in short order. He shook his bangs out of his eyes, unable to wipe his brow, and wondered how he would look upon his delayed return to the castle. _I'm sure to give Lilina a turn like this, _he thought with a wry smile, but a moment spent on it and the idea of her fretting at his absence and panicking at his return didn't entertain him. _How long _is_ a mile, exactly?_ He could count them between the territories on horseback or caravan, but the measurements changed when it was just his two feet and a wounded fish merchant. Suppose he didn't get back before dark? He knew they'd look for him, Cecilia and Hector and however many guards he could rally, but if robbers dared to do their work in broad daylight, what would the roads look like at night?

_Don't think about that, _he told himself firmly. _Just focus on getting there._ But without even an unsettling distraction, all Roy could focus on was the sharpening ache in his arms and back and the dryness in his throat. He tried to put himself at ease by thinking of the feast they'd come back to, how Hector would want to celebrate Lilina's success with apple turnovers, but all it did was remind him that he was hungry, too. After a while, he managed to stave off the immediate fatigue by honing in on the turns in the trail and trying to invent landmarks: a lightning-struck tree splintered down the middle, a half-buried burlap sack, a blackberry hedge spilling over the edge of the trail. If he was going to be late anyway, he'd at least keep Lilina from admonishing him for getting lost on the way back.

As they scaled yet another wide hill and the road before them began to even out, Roy saw a figure standing at the end of it. He halted abruptly for a second time, sending Logden forth a step with a pained cry.

"Oy! Warn me next time y'—"

"_Ssh!_" he hissed through a sharp exhale. "I think— that's one of the guards up there!"

"One'f the… Wait, since when've there been guards out here?"

"I said to _keep your voice d—"_

"Who's there?" The guard had spotted them. It took everything in Roy's power to keep his knees from quaking again as the sentry started towards them, but he stood his ground, swallowing hard as he frantically pieced something together. The guard stopped about ten feet away, readying his lance. "What've we got here? I know the redhead's one of ours, but…."

"Civilian, sir," Roy sputtered, his breath not yet caught up with him. Logden let out a low moan, barely audible, so Roy continued: "I-I'm supposed to meet somebody with him. All part of the exam."

"He's covered in blood," said the guard, frowning.

"Oh… yeah, sheep's blood," Logden said, catching on. "The boy's got to be compelled to take me seriously, hasn't he?" His voice was bravely steady all of a sudden, in spite of his very real injuries; Roy was almost himself convinced for a moment that Logden was indeed a part of Cecilia's design.

"I-I suppose so, but… but we were never instructed on this."

"Lilina and I didn't even get all _our_ instructions until this morning, and it actually matters to us," Roy said, attempting a grin.

"But you're not the ones getting your pay docked if you foul this up," the guard snapped. "I don't want to find out later I was supposed to try and stop you."

"Lady Cecilia won't mind." With a polite nod, Roy admitted himself past the guard, who stepped out of the way, flustered. "She's preoccupied, anyway— or will be, at this rate," he added in an undertone. Once they'd made a few more turns in the road and were sure the sentry was behind them, Logden chuckled hoarsely.

"I thought f'sure you'd cave back there." His slur was all the more pronounced after he'd feigned it away. "Guess you got a decen' head on your shoulders after all. But how's th'rest of you holdin' up?"

"I'm all right."

He continued: "Really, I fully expected you t'bail on me. You're stronger'n you look."

"I doubt that. If you saw me try to fight…."

"Well, you folks jus' do it for play, don't you? No reason for you t'be strong before now." Roy frowned; it seemed like Logden was mocking him again, so he diverted the topic.

"You said your home's on the lake, right? It's not much farther, is it?" It may have been wishful thinking, but Roy thought he could smell water close by. Sure enough, Logden shook his head. _I'm almost there— I can make it!_ The thought of finishing left Roy feeling newly invigorated. Maybe, if he figured in enough time for a return trip and a few bouts with the sentries, he could go for a swim…. He caught himself slowing down and shook off the thought. "And what about you—how are you feeling? You've lost a lot of blood… i-is there someone at home who can look after you?" He'd hesitated to bring it up, keen as he was to avoid the job himself, but it hit him then how slack Logden's grip on his shoulder had become, how sluggish his limp was. The leg was never the problem—it was the still-bleeding head wound that would kill him, if anything did.

"Yeah, 'least one of the kids oughta be home."

"Okay. Just tell me where to go." Somewhat relieved, Roy hoisted Logden into a more secure position and quickened his pace. Soon enough, they broke through the trees and there was the lake, rippling slightly in the wake of the wind and peppered with rowboats. They took up a side path and walked where the ground was still solid parallel to the shore, but they hadn't been on it more than a few minutes before a voice echoed up from the lake.

"Dad!" They turned to see a young man wading towards them, dragging his boat along by a rope tied to the keel. He emerged, barefoot, and ran out to meet them, wearing a mutinous expression. He looked to be in his early twenties, taller than his father, but somewhat more muscular, with hair the color and consistency of the pine needles above them. "I knew something happened to you, you're never longer'n a couple hours at market—I'll take him," he barked shortly at Roy, who ducked out from under Logden's arm and stepped back timidly as the younger man shouldered him, looking considerably more at ease with it than Roy had felt.

"Trent. Good t'see you're working today, 't least. Where're the others?"

"Don't try and shoot the breeze. I know you got yourself mugged, Dad. We _offered_ to go with you, y'know—"

"And y'would've lost me ev'ry sale. You'd go out there thinkin' I need a bag of gold for every perch on my table. Havin' you there would only complicate things."

"Like it matters now," snorted Trent. "Let's just get you back home and then we'll sort out who'll go out to give away the next catch, all right?" They started back toward the boat without so much as a nod back to Roy. He understood after a moment— Logden's family would have shared his feelings on "castle folks," after all. As he watched Trent place his father gently in the boat, Roy knew he'd done all he could to try and convince Logden that he'd help him without compensation, to make a good impression on behalf of Hector and Lilina —was _that_ all he was doing? _I treated him like he _was_ part of the test, didn't I? Couldn't even take him seriously with blood pouring from his forehead…. _He was still standing there as Trent began to push the boat back onto the water, but he couldn't let them leave without another word. Pulling his satchel out from over his shoulder, he walked out onto the shore, the coarse sand crunching under his feet.

"Wait!" he called, his voice cracking slightly. Trent followed through with shoving the boat out, but kept a hand on it as he turned to look at Roy with the same suspicious, vaguely condescending expression that Logden first placed on him. Roy stopped short of the water, one hand in his satchel—but it wasn't worth keeping them. He closed the bag and and tossed it into the boat. "That's for you," he said to Logden. "There's a fresh vulnerary in there, and some bandages—they're all yours, I never used them before today. And—" Pocket money. He wasn't sure of the amount. "—a-and you can keep the bag."

"Y'really don't have to—" Roy stepped back, waving a hand. Trent looked impatiently from his face to his father's, apparently wondering whether or not to shove off yet. Logden picked up the satchel and looked at him for a moment, his eyes glinting expectantly through the blood on his face, but Roy kept his mouth shut. After a second, Logden gave a slight shrug, closed his eyes, and leaned back, folding his arms over his stomach. "Right. Well, thanks for all this. You really came through for me there, lad. Keep workin' hard, y'hear?"

"I will." With a nod from Logden, Trent vaulted into the boat, gave a brisk wave in Roy's direction, and set to rowing away from the mainland. Roy waited for a minute, shivering slightly, as the boat grew smaller; when it was far enough to be out of sight, he sank down bodily onto the ground, bared his feet, and slipped them into the wet sand. He stared up at the sky just long enough to determine that the sun was still high, and he had time….

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: Gaah, I take a break from my OC fic… only to write another OC. I guess I'm incorrigible in that regard. This took quite a while but I'd like to think my rate of fic completion is increasing gradually, so hopefully the next chapter won't take as long. Hope you guys enjoyed this one!<p> 


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